After midnight, an uncle
was born a newborn.
In the center of the Buddhist room where incense smoke lingers
He was born sitting on his haunches
He stood up, his legs trembling
“I really wanted to be a steamboat.“
He was a troublesome man.
So the next day, we went out to the harbor in the morning.
Uncle Pulp was armored up with a heavy body.
“Watch out, Uncle!”
I closed my eyes.
Behind my eyelids, the sunlight shone thinly.
Sure enough, he slips on the tetrapod.
He slips on the tetrapod and flips over.
His head was bleeding and he couldn't move a muscle.
I knew he would not live long
But the way it all ended so quickly
I was a little disappointed and sentimental for a while.
The next afternoon
under the bridge, where I could hear the sound of the rain
I was playing with stones
The leaden sky stretched far out to sea
to the sea beyond.
Then I saw my uncle's soul emerge from his corpse
the soul of my uncle, shimmering
It came to me
“I still can't be a steamboat
But I think I can become a mirage.“
With a look of unconcern on his face
He went out into the rainy sea.
And he never came back.
The turning wheel of time stirs up the dust of disarray,
that settles in the crumbling cauldron of disordered life.
In the maiming moments of disdained dejection,
truth tumbles in the mélange of disorienting chaos.
Under the scorching blaze of the envy flame,
the desiccated soul suffers parched and forsaken,
searches for the niche of sanguinity in self-belief
to get the self-seeking shade of hope in frustration.
The sapling of irresistible longing rooted deep in desire,
nurtured in the receptive core of the longing heart,
blossoms the flower of passionate hedonism,
luring the being with the illusion of impulsive urge.
In the disorderly squall of divesting dismay,
the mangled mind is disheveled to a dishabille state,
tries to snap the chords of captivating greed,
the psychic cascade of unconcern carries them away.
Chasing the mirage across the dunes of desolation,
the hope of taking life to the oasis disappears deluded.
As the beleaguering storm of disenchantment blows,
consciousness takes the correction course to undo despair.
I watch the children playing in the street
Sweet, innocent, full of energetic laughter,
Caring not about the political news beat
What November's wrong decisions bring after.
I love their unconcern for gender, creed or race
Or grand issues our society must face
Seldom aware of their own family's need
Nor thinking about another time or place.
They make the most of daylight hours
Playing with best friends and foes alike,
Bringing Mama bouquets of pretty wildflowers,
Riding around the neighborhood on a bike.
I wonder when they will come to realize
That life is more than laughter, fun and game
When taken seriously, at least, in their eyes
Childhood is gone and life is never the same.
Achieve more than ever believed
newfound respect you’ll receive
the mock become your flock
admiration in their shock
ignored you when you contact
now instantly they'll get back
were always looking to show you up
used to say try to suck less
now they look to show you off
in awe of your success
If you hide in shadows
enjoying my dark days
laugh me a saddo
enjoying my heartache
jump a bandwagon
disloyal and farce mate
a lack of compassion
unconcern my starved state
partly enjoying my misery
small incident from our history
been waiting for what you see
blind notice pain reality
Say I need to be stronger
though I surge at my strongest
and still it goes on longer
don’t encourage me contest
suggestions my weakness
and how you could beat this
all the while I sleep much less
your ego weak too resist
Then you walk the bridge as it burn
build no replacement, walk no return
no longer is there a respect to earn
you show me a lesson, one I learn
And if we stream outside the city walls
to raise new gods, and burn the old,
it is simply quite incidental.
We might have destroyed them once
but did not.
We might destroy them now
but do not.
We surrounded them, screaming fiercely,
closed in on them, blades ready for the kill...
then shuddered, paused, stopped...
and retreated before their smirking unconcern.
As then, as always,
our purpose, very occasional, shrinks.
We bring great power,
yet it is a power kept from itself,
keeping itself from us.
We are many, but our weapons are dull.
Still, were they sharp
they would not be sharp enough,
theirs are far sharper,
they are, after all, theirs.
There is weakness at the root of us all.
They coolly calculate our demise
as slain Uriah,
betrayed at the gate.
24th March 2005
In the darkness of the night
I see your star shine bright
I hear the cries of our people
trying to be seen as equal
I feel your resilient heart
being torn apart
the desperation, indignation, exasperation
They insult us with their words
their ignorance, unconcern, and condemnation
but despite it all, we shall rise
and never compromise
The pure hearts that we share
The proud people of this nation
We shall overcome despite their laceration
Not trying to hurt the readers
Or become a poetic verbal ling beater
I’ll fade out of the last
These ends creep quietly past
It starts in fear
I’ll give it
Another year
Then gather all that was said
And put regret back
Into my head
Sorting what can never rest
A memory lap
Infests
Something
Someone
Disturbed
Now bouncing in my head
Unconcern
Though
Listening
To every word
I keep the ball rolling
Instead
Deeper thoughts
Off patrolling
A walk
Thanks to the lithium
Shake and roll
Answers on a limb
Insights possibility
On the rims
My confidence confined
Then on the cursing slide
A problem to think
May drive me to another
Mind spilling awful stink
Everyone can play strange
On their own memory lanes
Some houses out of view
For what they stand up to
Front yard trenches
Made of old work benches
An old oak tree
Breathing bothers me
Hard work upsets to need
Too busy convincing you
Look down to gaze upon the hours
moving through the void of unconcern,
forgetfulness on every side
and isolation dear
because it is the only thing
to cling to.
Stop...where birdsong knows another plain,
where peace is blended with the rain
of sorrows entertained, and touched,
and smiled upon because they still sustain
the present in all time—
the childhood kissed,
the love that slipped away,
the youth that bowed
and stretched forth aging arms
to hold the sun.
Then turn with me;
it is not done, and when
the turning is at rest
there is the rainbow
to reflect what it does best,
the final memory of light.
~
From the north silently it comes down the river,
invisible, radioactive, combining with *acid rain.
Nuclear power, cheap energy, a cancer giver
and all we love will end, if we don't chose to refrain.
So fueled by greed, we chew up the earth for coal to burn,
blackening the skies and butchering the mountain side,
all so that we can drive SUV's with total unconcern,
laughing at the third world, on the globe, we stand astride.
The black-outs, *brown-outs, oh the anarchy of light's blight
creating a sickly yellow miasma's where few stars shine.
And cities of cave dwellers who never see the night,
turn shades of puce and pink by neon lights malign.
Soon, I'm sure, we'll redefine the nature of what's pure,
and Seri's *app will tell what game to eat ...and the cure.
Tears well in my eyes; don't let anyone see
Patch the broken parts over and over
Let no one know I am late for the show
Again, unconcern seems my plot
Friends don't desire your lights
Lard biscuits don't make you slender
Taste and know; It ain't for show
Tastes change and remove a familiar flavor
no lard to make those butter biscuits today
Hushpuppy corn bread is the way to go
if nonchalant meant blithe unconcern
the militant florist arced the bouquet
through the air like some Olympian
athlete with the greatest chalance
the muscled biceps rotated smoothly
with grace and purpose as the
petaled red and blue grenade of
flora with ferns hurtled toward you
the florist then alone, stood erect
not watching the flowers as they
curved the baby-blue sky to you,
but at you, to see if you would
catch the meaning and catch
the cellophaned caress of love
elegantly presented before you or
allow it to strike unbiased ground
love, whether thrown or carefully
handed over, is still a beautiful
gesture from one to another and
common as sunrise, rare as gold
© Goode Guy 2011-07-04
inspired by an image
http://www.banksy.co.uk/indoors/flowerchucker.html
Yes, I know "chalance" isn't a word....'til now. ;-)
AS THE SUN SAID ITS LAST GOODBYES
TO HIS WELL KNOWN FRIEND; THE SUBURBS
THE MOON ONECE AGAIN FILLED THE NIGHT SKY
WITH ITS BRIGHT LIGHT
BUT WHEN EVER THE MOON SHARES ITS LIGHT
WITH THE SUBURBS…
IT AWAKES THOSE WHO SEEK HAVOC
IT SWITCHES ON DARK MINDS
THAT PENATRATES EVIL
THESE MINDS HAVE MALICE…
THEY COME TO DAMAGE LITTLE
HEARTS, MINDS, BODIES AND SOULS…
TOUCHING, FEELING, GRABING,
TOSSING SHOUTING, SCREEMING…ABUSING
WHEN THE HEARTLESS, SENSELESS,
CRUEL, UNCONTROLABLE, UNCONCERN AND
UNBALENCED MINDS LEAVE THEIR YOUNG,
TERIVIED AND TORTURED VICTIMS…
SILENCE…
AND THEN…
ANGER, RAGE…TEARS
TEARS OF PAIN
TEARS THAT LEAVE INNER SCARS
AND ENDLESS THOUGHTS…
EMOTIONS CAN’T STAY INTACT
BECAUSE OF THE DAMAGE THAT
WAS CAUSED BY THE RECKLESS AND
SELFISH MINDS
WHEN WILL JUSTICE BE SERVED?
WHEN WILL THE PAIN AND SUFFERING STOP?
WHEN WILL THE TEARS TURN INTO LAUGHTER?
WHEN WILL THE VANDICTIVE MINDS SEE THE LIGHT?
This thread of remorse is as unconcern
a voluntary hoarding of return,
why force my entity in solaced earn,
new loves promise embraces just adjourn!
The risk at stake is but the matters turn,
the reason for the entry, entries burn.
I am the withering hope, a closet's scorn
a garment of repent, thus merely born!
To live again, as you, would be my worn,
to live as else consents to new reform
would qualify no jury, so conform
is separation's quandary, but the storm!
The lasting trail of mourning, not deceased
as so it is . . . love lost ~ forgotten's form
is sad, but truer than exacting's shorn,
and lower than its eyes . . . cast with forlorn!
Selfishness means: inconsiderate, thoughtless and/or greedy
Unconcern for others only for self and being a meany
God wants us to show others that it’s all about love
The hope and caring that filters down from up above
Life is not about selfish acts or being conceited
It’s about helping others out when and where it is needed
In return God will reward you with peace, joy, liberty and freedom
Because in His eyes it’s about doing His work that’s pleasing
Let’s get out of wanting to be and doing only for self
To show God you love Him let’s show care and concern for some one else.
Galatians 5:16
But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, longsuffering,
gentleness, goodness, faith………
This thread of remorse is as unconcern,
a voluntary hoarding of return,
why force my entity in solaced earn
though promise of new loves embrace adjourn!
The risk at stake is but the matters turn
the reason of the entry, entree's burn.
I am the withering hope,a closet's scorn
a garment of repent, thus merely born!
To live again, as you, would be my worn,
to live as else, consents to new reform,
would qualify no jury, so conform
is separation's quandary, but the storm!
The lasting trail of mourning, not deceased
as so it is, love lost, forgotten's form
is sad but truer than exacting's shorn
and lower than its eyes cast with forlorn!
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